Swallowing Poison
by zerodawn22
Summary: I usually write Fleurmione, but I decided to take a break and write a dark little one-shot about Bellatrix and Fleur. Post-war AU, dark side has won. Semi dub-con moment at first. BellatrixFleur. Complete.


You can get used to a certain type of poison.

Fleur Delacour knew this better than most. She could feel the cursed feelings coursing through her veins at night when she knew that the woman would be summoning her.

* * *

It was three years after the war. Three years since Harry Potter had been killed by Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters had begun their tyrannical reign.

The changes had been sudden, disorienting. Voldemort had wasted no time in passing in quick succession a series of prejudicial laws. Fleur's marriage had become invalid on the basis that she was part-Veela. Her passport and residency documents had been shredded by Ministry officials visiting all those with magical creature blood. She was left unable to leave England, unable to own a wand, unable to seek paid employment.

Bill had fought for her, of course. But that had only revealed his werewolf affliction and he had suffered a similar fate. He had eventually found paid work. In one of the only places that could take him. He had moved out to work in the remote mines in the mountains, sending any money he could scrounge back to his parents. His parents, given their affiliation with the Order during the war, were similarly hard up. Fleur understood that Bill had next to nothing to send, and that his parents were aging. She understood that he trusted her to find a way to survive herself.

So Fleur had been reduced to begging for work. Fleur Isabelle Delacour. Fleur had never had to ask for anything in her life before. Having to beg for work had been the final slap in the face after being stripped of her rights.

Unfortunately for her, the job market was swamped with Muggle borns and those with magical creature blood. She was competing with thousands for the slightest chance at being a dishwasher in the back room of a pub.

Eventually, horribly, fate sent her a chance at work one evening. Rejected for what felt like the millionth time from working at a bar, Fleur was dejected, and heading on her way out of the bar. As one with magical creature blood, she was not permitted to enter the bar as a customer anyway.

On her way out, she had to shuffle her way through a large group of Death Eaters, one of whom spilt a pitcher of beer down her front.

"Sorry love!" the man grunted, as the group of Death Eaters erupted in laughter.

"Fuck off," Fleur spat, angry at the Death Eaters. Angry at the world, really.

"Excuse me, do you realise who's company you are in?" cut in a cold and haughty voice. It was then that the crowd parted a little to reveal the infamous Black sisters. Narcissa Malfoy had addressed her, looking down her nose at Fleur as if she were an insect. Bellatrix Lestrange was at her side, eying her curiously. Fleur felt fear rush cold through her veins. She wouldn't be much help to Bill or anyone if she were dead.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm just frustrated," Fleur said, backing down. If she played this right she could leave without further confrontation, "I got rejected from another job."

"'Ts probably coz of your filthy animal blood," one Death Eater cackled, touching at her silver-blonde hair. Fleur swatted his hand away and the Death Eaters laughed even more.

"What a coincidence," Bellatrix interrupted, her voice low and husky. Fleur could see the dark danger in Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes. It reminded her horribly of the state Hermione had been in after being tortured at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix had practically shredded the girl into ribbons.

"I am looking to employ someone," Bellatrix continued. Fleur wasn't sure what to say.

"Really, Bella? A creature?" Narcissa asked with distaste.

"Sure, we don't have to meet any labour laws when we hire creatures," Bellatrix smirked, "We can just provide her with food and board, and the occasional tip for extra money."

Fleur had to admit, this was the best offer she had had in many months. She was sick of having to steal and forage to feed herself, crashing on pureblooded friend's couches as she was unable to legally rent or own a property these days.

"How much in tips?" Fleur asked, trying not to betray how desperate she was. Bellatrix had laughed then, a cruel and cold laugh. She stepped forward and squeezed Fleur's face with one hand.

"That all depends on how good you are at your job," Bellatrix hissed.

And so that was how Fleur ended up suffering her final injustice, having to work for the woman who had slayed her brother in law during the war. But it was work. Having her own room, albeit servant's quarters, as well as being regularly provided with meals, was a luxury Fleur had not enjoyed in some time.

Bellatrix affixed a metal bracelet to all her Muggle born and magical creature staff. It made Fleur's stomach burn with injustice. She felt collared like a housepet. The metal bracelet would burn painfully against her skin whenever Bellatrix was summoning her to report for work. Fleur hoped the stupid Dark Mark burned Bellatrix's skin as searingly when she was summoned by Voldemort.

Bellatrix hired her to clean the house. This involved polishing the silver of the old Black family, dusting down old portraits that spewed bigoted comments at her, washing Bellatrix and her husband's clothes, making beds. It didn't escape her notice that Bellatrix and her husband did not share a bedroom.

Once she had broached the subject with Bellatrix when she was being instructed on how to make the beds. Bellatrix hadn't responded. Instead she had struck Fleur across the face, hard.

* * *

The first time Fleur noticed Bellatrix watching her was when she was asked to dust the tall bookshelves of Mr. Lestrange's study. She was on her tiptoes, dusting the thick layer of dust on the shelves and inwardly cursing the inability for her to own a wand. She had been cursing silently in French, unaware she was not alone until she turned to find Bellatrix watching her. Bellatrix was sitting in a high backed armchair, smoking a cigarette, watching Fleur with those dark and glittering eyes. She had waved Fleur over then, with a semi-bored expression.

Trembling, Fleur had walked towards her, worried that she was about to be subject to a nasty curse for swearing on the job. Bellatrix kept a tight ship in her household and Fleur had seen many a cook or gardener subjected to the Cruciatus Curse.

But as she had drawn closer to Bellatrix, the dangerous woman had stood. She kissed Fleur softly on the cheek, and pressed a gold galleon into her hand. Fleur had stood there, stunned, while Bellatrix slowly sauntered out of the room. She hadn't understood the strange act of generosity from the wizarding world's cruellest witch.

But then, one night, Fleur was trying to settle into an uneasy sleep. Her body often ached from doing manual labour all day after so many years of the privilege of magic and the staff at her parent's mansion. Her eyes were just flickering shut when she felt the familiar searing of the band on her wrist. Sitting up, Fleur wondered what on Earth kind of job Bellatrix would have for her in the middle of the night.

She walked up the stairs rapidly in her night dress. She would have liked to get changed before reporting to Bellatrix, but it was a clear expectation in the household that lateness to respond to Bellatrix earned you a nasty stinging curse.

Fleur knocked on Bellatrix's door with a trembling hand. She was still fearful of the woman. But hopefully responding so quickly to such a late demand would earn her another tip. Fleur was aiming on saving enough money to escape to France. Once there she would be able to call on her family to help rescue Bill and his family.

"Enter," Bellatrix said coldly.

Fleur pushed open the door and entered. The room was dark, and Bellatrix was sitting in bed. Fleur walked cautiously towards her.

"What could I do for you?" Fleur asked, uncertain as to what kind of a mood Bellatrix was in.

"You are blessed with looks," Bellatrix commented in her husky voice. It seemed like an entirely random statement. Fleur cocked her head to one side, confused.

"It is the Veela blood," Fleur said, looking away, bitter about her blood-status in the current political climate.

"Many must want you," Bellatrix drawled, watching her quietly.

"I suppose," Fleur replied, shifting on her feet. It was unnerving being watched so closely by Bellatrix.

"And how many have actually been able to have you?" Bellatrix continued. This completely threw Fleur and she made a small choking noise.

"Erm…" Fleur wasn't sure how to answer that.

"Come here," Bellatrix hissed. It was then that Fleur realised what Bellatrix wanted. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she thought about the wedding band on her finger. About Bill's brother who had lost his life to this madwoman. About what Bellatrix would say or do if she refused. About the protections that Bellatrix could offer her. Thinking finally about France and her beloved parents and sister, Fleur swallowed heavily and climbed into the bed with Bellatrix.

* * *

It was regular now. Most nights Fleur was summoned very late by the burning of the cuff around her wrist. She would obediently ascend the stairs and slip into Bellatrix's bed. Bellatrix would waste no time in clamouring on top of her, disrobing her, sometimes binding her to the headboard. Bellatrix was a dominant and rough lover, often biting Fleur in the heat of passion and leaving long scratches down her back. But disturbingly, Fleur found herself enjoying it. She hated to admit it to herself, but the sex was even more enjoyable than the sex she had with Bill.

So Fleur found herself literally sleeping with the enemy. She hated herself for it. She hated Bellatrix for it. But as Bellatrix grew more fond of her and began to offer her freedom, Fleur found herself begrudgingly growing conflicted feelings for the woman.


End file.
